


Not a penny for your thoughts

by deusreks



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 01:57:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6033811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deusreks/pseuds/deusreks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All is the same, except Oikawa can read minds.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p> As he carried Tooru, Hajime thought:</p>
  <p>
    <i>Heavy.</i>
  </p>
  <p>“Am I heavy, Iwa-chan?” Tooru smiled, though his knees ached. Hajime’s hair smelled of dirt and his neck of water from the stream he splashed himself with moments ago.</p>
  <p>“The heaviest,” Iwa-chan said.</p>
  <p>Tooru hummed and his hands around Hajime’s neck clung harder. At that moment, he was so filled with happiness that it came as no surprise he was so heavy.</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	Not a penny for your thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Selma, for being the sweetest, yet angstiest headcanon partner.

The first time Oikawa Tooru knew for sure that he could read minds was when he exchanged curious glances with Iwaizumi Hajime over their mother’s bicycles. Hajime’s flow of thoughts went a little like this:

_There’s a bug in his hair._

_Should I tell him?_

_Mother told me not to point at people._

_The bug is the same colour as his eyes._

_Pretty._

“There’s a—”

Before Hajime could finish his sentence, Tooru swiftly plucked the bug out of his hair, not once breaking eye-contact with Hajime. If Hajime noticed that something had happened within Tooru, he didn’t show it.

This mischievous abuse of his power was fun to Tooru when he was six. As he grew, it became a burden. At first, he couldn’t tell thoughts and spoken words apart. With headaches and leaving classrooms came experience he needed to know the difference. Thoughts were raw, quick, never lingered longer than a heartbeat and they came with a soft thrum of static.

Tooru practiced on adults and classmates. Their mouths shared the sugar-coated extension of their thoughts, or the exact opposite – lies. He learned how to shut them out completely and then how to tread the tangle of their thoughts as if he were strolling down a park. What he’d heard twisted him; he grew bitter and discerning before he turned ten.

And then there was Hajime; his Hajime, who sometimes thought nothing at all or spoke before he thought of it. Hajime, whose mouth was a weapon Tooru worshipped. Others never knew this; couldn’t appreciate it. It was Tooru’s mouth they feared; the venom-coated words disguised as harmless phrases he used as a shield against all that hurt him. Next to Tooru, they forgot about Hajime. Hajime, who was wider in hips and shoulders and who spiked the ball so hard the earth shook, couldn’t possibly have a sharp tongue. But he did; if Tooru didn’t want to hear it, Hajime would say it and if Tooru had to hear it, Hajime would be the first to say it.

This was true at all times. When Tooru ate too fast and ended up with half his food around his mouth and on his nose, Hajime told him he looked like a runaway reindeer. When Hajime told him his volleyball toss was perfect, Tooru was overcome with pride. When Hajime thought Tooru’s toss was amiss, he said as much and Tooru tried harder. When Hajime thought Tooru looked good in a cyan shirt, he said: ‘Nice shirt.’ When Tooru fell on the rocks after chasing a bug that Hajime had secretly wanted, Hajime offered him his back, not caring in the slightest that his shirt and pants would get ruined by Tooru’s bloody knees.

As he carried him, Hajime thought:

_Heavy._

“Am I heavy, Iwa-chan?” Tooru smiled, though his knees ached. Hajime’s hair smelled of dirt and his neck of water from the stream he splashed himself with moments ago.

“The heaviest,” Iwa-chan said.

Tooru hummed and his hands around Hajime’s neck clung harder. At that moment, he was so filled with happiness that it came as no surprise he was so heavy.

* * *

 

In junior high, volleyball became Tooru’s saving grace, a sport he could put his whole self into; his side of the court was a sanctuary to his scheming mind and his fit, ever-growing body. In Kitagawa Daiichi, he was the finest cog, spinning so fast others could barely keep up. He heard the thoughts of those around him: ‘ _he’ll go far_ ’ and ‘ _good thing he came to us_ ’ and ‘ _I wish Oikawa tossed to me_ ’. Tooru could burst at the idea of all he could accomplish, all he could be.

That was, until two impregnable walls erected themselves on either side of him, threatening to grind him into dust.

The first wall was Kageyama Tobio. Those around Tooru didn’t have to think it; they said it as if there was nothing to hide: ‘Kageyama is a natural’. Kageyama’s shadow loomed over Tooru and he felt the cold fingers of darkness digging into his shoulders and pulling him down. He was a third year, this shouldn’t be happening now. In Tooru’s mind, Kageyama was saying: ‘I will replace you’. But in reality, Kageyama’s thoughts were that of constant, sweet awe; a puppy love for the setter that was Oikawa Tooru he only wishfully dreamed of surpassing one day.

This discrepancy only poured salt on Tooru’s wound. He shut himself off from everyone’s thoughts and stayed behind to practice, day after day without fail. It was easy to run when he was being chased. The floor of Tooru’s mind was frozen with despair and his concentration slipped on it during practice. He didn’t want to hear it but he opened his heart to it anyway: ‘Cool your head’. And he was pulled off court. When Kageyama pressed his eager, excited palm to Tooru’s, Tooru heard his thoughts: ‘ _I’ll have to fill in for Oikawa-san_ ’.

It came as no surprise that the next time Kageyama came to Tooru for help and advice, his thoughts filled with ‘ _You are an amazing setter, I wish you would teach me_ ’, the last thread of Tooru’s composure snapped and he raised his hand at Kageyama. If not for Hajime catching his wrist, Tooru would’ve never been able to look at himself in the mirror again.

_Dumbass_

“Calm down, dumbass,” Iwa-chan said, his eyes aflame with warning and worry. In them, Tooru’s horrible face was reflected and he stopped, dumfounded, at the horror of it. In the couple of seconds Kageyama took to leave, Hajime’s thoughts shuffled so many times that Tooru caught none of them.

“You need to get it together, you’re not being replaced.”

Something in Tooru broke; the churning frustration that drove him into this state found words on his tongue and he confessed it all: “The way I am now, I cannot win against Shiratorizawa so there’s no way I can get it together. _I want to win!_ ”

There was no warning. No spark of inspiration from Hajime’s mind before Hajime head butted him and a galaxy exploded behind his eyes. Blood spilled from Tooru’s nose as Hajime took him by the jersey and pulled him in so close that Tooru could do nothing but stare, his thoughts chanting:

_Fight me_

_Fight me_

_I’ll take them all on_

Hajime’s thoughts gave way to desperate cacophony:

_Listen to me_

_Listen to me_

_This is not your fight only_

Tooru’s heart was silent, but it beat with determination still. 

Volleyball was Tooru’s saving grace; so was Iwaizumi Hajime. 

 

The second wall was Ushijima Wakatoshi. Ushijima, bigger, faster and stronger, looked down on Tooru’s climbing equipment all through junior high. How many times had Tooru asked himself: ‘Why can’t we win?’ And how many times had Hajime asked himself the same, but never out loud? Tooru lost count.

Tooru’s resilience made him invincible. He tried again, and again, and again. Until junior high was over and all he had to show for it was the _Best Setter Award_. Tooru smiled as he looked at it. He was moving towards something better, not yet exactly what he wanted.

“That’s a rare smile, no ulterior motive,” Hajime commented. His voice was tad on the soft side and Tooru smiled because of that too.

“My smile is _always_ straightforward and pure.”

“You saying that is already impure enough.”

As Hajime turned away, Tooru caught the muffled sound of his thoughts accompanied by faint static:

_Are you really happy with this?_

“But I’m happy!” Oikawa said, the smile shining strong on his lips. “This is my first setter’s reward.”

Later, as they stood in line, salt in their mouth and last junior high tournament lost and behind them, Tooru heard a new shade of Hajime’s thoughts, one that matched his own:

_Next time_

_Next time_

_I’ll be better_

* * *

 

In high school, Tooru was fast to learn what made his teammates tick, and he used that knowledge to build the finest clockwork Aoba Johsai’s volleyball club has ever had. There was Matsukawa, the steady hand. There was Hanamaki, the calm _and_ the storm. There was Kindaichi, new flow to an old river. There was Kunimi, the unreadable to those who couldn’t do what Tooru could. There was Hajime, the finest instrument Tooru had on his disposal.

And then there was Tooru himself, who was counting on all of them. He said as much, before every match, because they couldn’t read his thoughts; he wanted them to feel it and understand it as if they could. No sprained ankle, no blows to his pride, no frustration could impede him. He accepted his weakness and with the acceptance came his strength.

“No one in prefecture could match Tobio in tossing. We can find another way to win.”

Hajime pouted at him, so obviously irked. Shortly after, a ball connected with Tooru’s back, the sting of the blow imminent. “Don’t say that. You’re a setter.”

_You’re plenty good._

Tooru let his heart flutter around Hajime’s thoughts for a brief moment. “I’m just being honest. I am more mature now, Iwa-chan, don’t you think~? It adds to my charm and mystery. That’s why all girls want to date _me_.”

_You wish._

“Yeah, right,” Iwa-chan said. Tooru yearned for everything to be this simple. Then, “The only mystery is how you manage to fool _anyone_ into thinking you have charms.”

“ _Aw_ , Iwa-chan,” Tooru cooed. Suddenly, he was cold, nervous. He grinned as he said: “Wouldn’t you want to date me, too?”

_I wish._

Oikawa froze.

Hajime said, “You wish.”

Volleyball was not only a distraction, but a lifestyle – Tooru lost sleep to it, he was walked out on because of it. He was tempted, a couple of times, to try and listen to thoughts of his teammates, and his opponents, during matches but the stream of myriad thoughts all at once clouded Tooru’s judgment. He couldn’t selectively block out that many; that was not an option. During matches, there was only Tooru’s mind and what it had learned by observing those around him.

With all he craved for in focus, before Seijou’s Interhigh preliminaries match against Karasuno in their third year, Tooru spread his palm over Hajime’s back as if to channel his feelings into this simple gesture.

Hajime’s thoughts flew seamlessly into Tooru’s heart:

_I am here._

“This time as well,” Tooru turned to his team, confident and poised, his heart one fire, “I will be counting on you.”

They heard Tooru’s words, and their hearts beat as one. Like this, they won against Karasuno – they beat _Tobio-chan_ – and like this, they lost to Shiratorizawa again. Universe kept its ironic balance and Tooru felt the beginning of a long summer seep into his bones. He was either tired or burning for more, or both.

_Those who let the ball fall on the court, lose._

* * *

 

Tooru was vaguely aware of it before the tournament. During Wednesday practice, summer heat hot on their necks, he tossed to Iwa-chan and Iwa-chan spiked the ball with the strength and precision of Seijou’s ace.

“Good one, Iwa-chan,” Tooru praised him. He meant it.

But when he opened his mind to Hajime’s thoughts, he heard:

_Not good enough._

Tooru tossed to him again and he hoped that, this way, the back that always carried him would allow itself to be carried in turn.

“Iwa-chan, hop on,” Tooru said, later, his knees bending to allow better access to his back.

Hajime snarled at the sight. “What the hell.”

“I will carry you. That’s the captain’s job.”

Hajime pressed the sole of his foot to Tooru’s lower back and gave him a light kick. Tooru staggered and nimbly regained his composure. He turned around, bright and smiling, just in time to see Hajime’s face when he thought:

_It’s the ace’s job to carry the captain._

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Hajime said and looked away, a defiant pout forming on his lips.

Tooru clasped his hands and wished he could tell Hajime that he’d heard; that he knew and understood and that Hajime was enough. But he couldn’t say it. He simply couldn’t.

* * *

 

“Have you no faith in me, Iwa-chan?”

“No.”

_Not when it comes to this._

“I’ve learned my lesson. Mondays are off from practice. There’s a difference between resting and skipping,” Tooru said, lowering his own voice in attempt to match Hajime’s lower, rougher one.

“Is the idea of spending the Sunday night watching movies with me and sleeping over _that_ appalling to you?”

“Never, Iwa-chan. But only if you wanted me for my company, not for my hostage status.”

“Hostage.”

“A slight exaggeration, but the point stands.”

_Nothing is slight with you._

Hajime didn’t say it but Tooru smiled as if he did.

Hajime’s mother showered Tooru with snacks and tea and subtle questions about Hajime’s relationship status, much to Hajime’s incessant chagrin. This landed Hajime into grump-zone by the time they’d set out to watch a foreign movie about extraterrestrials from the 80s. They sat on the floor with a bowl of popcorn between them.

Halfway through the movie, at the most inappropriate of timings marked by death of many civilians, Hajime’s thoughts escaped him in an avalanche:

_He smells nice._

_Is that lavender?_

_What an asshole._

Tooru burst into uncontrollable bouts of chuckles.

“It’s not even funny. What the hell, Shittykawa.”

“It’s a little funny,” Oikawa said and snuggled closer, using his giddiness as an excuse. Hajime can’t turn him down when he’s sincerely pleased. Despite Tooru’s fear, Hajime didn’t pull away. Their damp shoulders pressed into one another and Hajime didn’t think about anything.

Immediately after the movie, Hajime crawled into his bed, leaving Tooru to turn off the lights and stumble his way into his futon. Pleasant, familiar silence fell over them and Tooru lay on his back with his hands behind his head. There was nothing of interest on the ceiling, and even if it were, it would be barely illuminated by a street lamp that fought its way through the window. Tooru’s thighs were sweaty and he listened to the sound of Hajime’s breathing. He recognized the pattern even if Hajime kept his thoughts quiet.

“Your mom is rather invested in your personal life.”

Hajime grumbled.

_None of her business._

“You’re harsh. She worries.”

Another grumble. Tooru almost laughed at how ridiculous this was; he’d know what Hajime had meant to say even if he wasn’t prying into his thoughts.

_What’s there to worry about?_

“Did you at least have your first kiss? So I have something to report to her.” Tooru kept his tone casual, but it was drenched in fear of what he might hear. It was an irrational fear, and not his to feel, but it was there anyway.

“Don’t you dare,” Hajime threatened. Then, silently, “And I haven’t had one.”

Tooru’s heart performed a feat worthy of a circus performer. “Ah, the inexperience~”

In the silence that followed, Tooru weighed several options and as he did so, Hajime kept motionless and silent. If not for his breathing, Tooru would’ve thought he’d melted into his sheets.  

“You could practice on me,” Tooru said around the knot in his throat. Hajime reacted instantly.

“Oikawa, I’m so tired I will faint if I punch you, but I’m willing to take that chance right now.”

“C’mon Iwa-chan, I’m just offering,” Tooru said. He kept his voice a whisper because it would’ve wavered otherwise. Or worse, cracked like cheap glass. “I haven’t had my first kiss either, so it’s a win-win situation.”

_No way._

“No way. You dated twelve thousand girls.”

“Thank you for believing in me,” Tooru whispered through a pout. “And it was only three.”

Hajime’s bed creaked and when Tooru turned his head, he saw that Hajime had lifted himself on his elbow. He was looking at Tooru, the stubborn glimmer in his eyes consumed by darkness.

“Alright,” Hajime said, and it was a dare.

Tooru didn’t have time to hesitate. He wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts and sat up. His knees went under Hajime’s bed so, like this, Hajime had to lean down if he wanted to reach Tooru’s lips. Tooru _wanted_ him to do it; wanted Hajime to bend like a flower trying to kiss the earth.

Hajime didn’t take long to figure it out and he lowered his head slowly, as if teasing, until his lips were a whisper away from Tooru’s. Tooru’s fingers tapped the edge of Hajime’s mattress, anticipating. When Hajime’s lips awkwardly pressed into Oikawa’s, his mind exploded into an incoherent stream of:

_Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit_

Kissing Hajime was like rebirth; Tooru’s mouth was slowly, innocently, learning the chapped machine of Hajime’s lips. Tooru wanted to drag his fingers down the knobs of Hajime’s spine, run his hand through Hajime’s hair, and crawl on top of him but every movement beyond this felt like betrayal. Instead, he took all he could from Hajime’s mouth, the clumsy caress of his tongue and the breath from his lungs, until they were forced to part for air.

Tooru’s heart thrashed in his chest; something had awoken that was better off asleep. Tooru listened to its prayers and imagined how easy it would be, with but a push of his knees, to catch Iwa-chan’s lips in a kiss that was completely different than the last one. His heart was dizzy with the idea but his head couldn’t go through with it.

Hajime fell back on his pillow and pressed the back of his hand to his forehead.

Tooru dazedly picked at the sheets, the press of Hajime’s lips still hot and lingering on his lips.

“And there goes my first kiss. Do you feel special, Iwa-chan?”

_If only you knew._

“It was just practice. Why would I feel special for kissing your dumb face?”

That was the first time Hajime had lied to him.

* * *

 

Summer was coming to a pitiful end, Spring High was closing in, and Tooru had been lying to Hajime their whole friendship. That last realization weighed on him the heaviest and Tooru knew it’s high time to disperse with it.

The mechanics of talking came naturally to him but he had no words for this confession. His tongue couldn’t work its way around it; he stuttered and prevaricated. Instead of “Hey Iwa-chan”, he played a game of ‘I’ll guess what number you’re thinking’ with Matsukawa. All he got was an accusation that he was cheating. Instead of “I have something to tell you”, he sang ‘I can hear what you’re thinking’ around Hajime after practice. Hajime thought his voice was pretty and every other plan Tooru had was discarded. Instead of “I can read minds”, Tooru dropped various hints and jokes, some of which Hajime found funny, others he raised an eyebrow at.

A week of this and Tooru felt more exhausted than after months of rigorous practice. On yet another Monday, his head sunk on the surface of Hajime’s table and he heaved a dramatic sigh.  

“Spit it out,” Hajime said. He was sprawled on his bed, reading a comic book.

Tooru sighed again. “What if I told you I could read minds?”

“Did your brain short-circuit?”

“Do I smell like I’m burning?”

“Oikawa.” Tooru knew he was in trouble. “Something’s bothering you.”

“That’s what I’ve been _trying_ to tell you.” Tooru pressed his forehead into his forearm, muffling his words.

“What have you been trying to tell me?”

“That I can _read_ _minds_ , Iwa-chan!”

That single sentence knocked the air out of Tooru’s chest. He was looking at Hajime, who had put his comic down on his lap. The arch of Hajime’s brow was questioning and his lip quivered, as if he, for once, couldn’t tell whether Tooru was serious or joking.

“I can prove it to you,” Tooru said, half ready to pretend he’d never decided to tell Hajime of his ability. He added, “Think of something.”

_Your face is dumb._

“’Your face is dumb’,” Oikawa repeated. “By the way, rude.”

_Impossible_.

“Possible.”

_I hid your alien hairpin because you were embarrassing me._

“Hey, I loved that hairpin!”

It happened so fast Tooru didn’t have time to prepare. Hajime knocked his comic book down as he rose to his feet. He took Tooru by his favourite neon-green alien shirt and roughly pulled him up. His eyes were darting wildly in their sockets as if he was hopelessly looking for words, but the more he looked at Tooru, the harder it was to find them.

Tooru’s throat was so dry that he couldn’t help him search.

Then, after suffocating minutes of silence had passed between them, Hajime said, “Oikawa, you better be kidding me.”

Tooru was silent.

“Say something like,” Hajime said and then changed his tone and manner of speaking to perfectly match Tooru’s. “’ _Iwa-chan your forehead is so high I can see what you’re thinking displayed on it_ ~’”

“Iwa-chan, I—”

Hajime let him go with a weak push and Tooru fell back, his shirt wrinkled with Hajime’s angry fists. Tooru fell back not because of the push, but because he had to put some distance between himself and his worse expectations coming to life. If he had imagined a better ending for this, he couldn’t remember it.

“Out,” Hajime pushed out. Tooru gave a nod and honoured the desire Hajime didn’t put into words: _time, I need time to think_.

* * *

 

“Oikawa, your eyes are puffy. Watched another heart-breaking alien movie?” Matsukawa teased after practice. Tooru, who had existed on auto-pilot since he woke up that morning, forced a smile. He felt like an impostor in his own skin.

“Perhaps it was a squirrel documentary?” Hanamaki added.

Tooru dismissed them with dramatic wave of his hand. “First of all—“

Iwa-chan walked past him and took his shirt off. Tooru didn’t finish his sentence. They hadn’t spoken today and during practice they steered clear of each other. Hajime’s thoughts were very quiet, as if they never existed in the first place. Tooru stole glances at him as he slid a clean, dry shirt on.

With an inhale that was meant to encourage him – and instead set his chest on fire – Tooru pushed past the lockers and stood next to Hajime.

“Hey, Iwa-chan.” Tooru cleared his throat. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?” Hajime didn’t sound angry. There was profound hurt in his words.

“Do you really want to do this here, Iwa-chan?” Tooru lowered his voice when he noticed the rest of Seijou’s attention turn towards them.

“ _Yes_ ,” Hajime said through gritted teeth. “For how long could you do this?”

Tooru saw that Matsukawa began to slowly steer the team out of the locker rooms. He waited, holding Hajime’s gaze, until they were gone. Then he said, “Since forever.”

“So all this time you—you _knew_?”

Tooru bit his lip. “I think I knew but I—” He watched Hajime’s eyes go impossibly wide and added, “I should’ve told you; _you_ of all people. You have every right to be angry at me.”

Hajime raked his nails through his scalp. Tooru didn’t speak, could only hope he’d chosen to say the right thing. Hajime’s mind was an old house in a storm; Tooru couldn’t save it, only hope to salvage the remains after.  

“I need a break,” Hajime breathed defeat as he wiggled his finger between them, his voice grave. “From _this_.”

“Okay, Iwa-chan. Whatever you need.”

* * *

 

Tuesday poured into Wednesday, Wednesday into Thursday and the week at practice melted away like ice cream left in the summer sun.

His back turned to Tooru, Hajime said: “What’s between us will not affect our volleyball.”

“It won’t,” Tooru confirmed.

And it didn’t.

 

During the day, Tooru was a machine but at night, alone in his room, his bones crumbled into the bed and he hugged his pillow as if it was the only thing keeping him afloat. On his eyelids was a black sky ridden with stars.

One star exploded and Tooru saw Hajime, ten years old, thinking he was _so_ smart for hiding behind a tree to ambush Tooru. Tooru thwarted his plans and sneaked up on him instead. He sandwiched Hajime’s face with two snowballs, making his light red cheeks as red as a tomato. Hajime made a poor attempt at revenge and they ended up rolling and rolling and rolling until they hit a tree. Tooru burst into laughter, because he’d won – he was on top of Hajime. Hajime bopped his nose and Tooru felt so warm he worried he’d melt snow around them. The moment he’d let his guard down, Hajime shoved him back with yet another snowball. And the games continued.

Other star went off and Tooru saw himself in a chokehold on the floor of Hajime’s bed. He’d been listening to Hajime’s thoughts while they played video games on his ps2 and Hajime was punishing him for cheating.

The third star blew up and left a golden trail of Hajime caressing Tooru’s fingers when he thought Tooru was asleep; of holding hands as they explored a tiny shack in the woods; of ‘ _I got your back_ ’ thought on the court; of knees touching under the desk when nobody was looking; of shared lunches; of warm eyes and cold feet; of always having a safe place to fall back on; of understanding.

There was an infinite number of stars just like these, each confirming what Tooru had already known; that if Hajime was his stars, Tooru wouldn’t mind spending his life reaching for the sky.

Tooru pulled out his phone and wrote numerous versions of “I’m sorry”, none of the as adequate as he wanted them to be. It would be so simple to press ‘ _Send_ ’ on any one of them.

Yet, he didn’t.

* * *

 

Tooru spent the Monday with his nephew. Takeru was a hard-working, sensible little person whose mouth was as honest as his mind. Watching over him put Tooru at ease. He snapped a few pictures of him and his proudest volleyball moments, and couldn’t wait to show them to Hajime.

Then Tooru’s mood went sour.

His mood went sourer still when he heard Tobio, of all people, calling out his name.

_Fitting_ , Tooru thought. When things crumble, they rarely do so quietly.

He tried to ignore Tobio, walked past him even after Tobio begged him to stay; even after Tobio bent his back:

_I need your advice Oikawa-san._

Tooru bit the inside of his cheek and gave his phone to Takeru. “Snap a picture.” He’d already figured out a perfect caption for the picture: “ _Tobio-chan is no match for Oikawa-san_.” Iwa-chan would’ve kicked him for it, if he were here.

Tooru listened to Tobio’s troubles and concluded that those very troubles could hatch into troublesome little crows later. Yet Tooru found himself offering advice, in spite of himself.

“Aren’t you just being a coward, Tobio-chan?” Tooru asked, and a part of that question was directed to himself too.

* * *

 

**Me (8:27pm):**

_Iwa-chan meet me at the playground at 9_

_If you can_

_If you want to_

Tooru pushed the swing with enough force to move, but not enough to take flight. He listened to the night around him, dark and whispering in an empty playground. There, next to the sandbox, was where Tooru fell and cried until Hajime kissed his elbow; it hurt all the same. There, by the tree, was where they found a puppy they’d adopted for half an hour before they had to return it to its owner. There, on the merry-go-round, Tooru clung to Hajime while Hajime laughed and laughed because the world was spinning and that’s the funniest thing on earth when you’re six. There, on the benches, Tooru gazed at Hajime like he was a starry night sky even if Hajime talked about godzilla and rare bugs he’d found in his grandpa’s backyard.

The string of memories was torn when Tooru heard footsteps behind him. The knot in his stomach tightened when Hajime sat on the swing next to him. He didn’t even attempt to move his swing, it was as still and quiet as Hajime himself.

“I’m sorry, Iwa-chan.”

“You said that already. And I forgive you,” Hajime said. His voice held a promise of things he had yet to say and struggled to find words for. He continued, in a voice that was barely Iwa-chan-like: “You did abuse this power occasionally, didn’t you?”

“When I suggested we kiss. I knew you wanted it.”

“I did.” Then, in a lower voice: “You wanted it too?”

“Yes.”

They sat silent for a while, the only sound passing between them was creaking of Tooru’s swing and their shallow breathing. Tooru felt light as air, like he could float away.

“Your thoughts are awfully quiet,” Tooru commented with a breathy laugh that was meant to ease the tension but only made it slither higher on his shoulders.

“I was wondering when you’d notice,” Hajime said. “I’ve been trying to find a way to shut you out so I’ve been experimenting for a week. When you stopped responding to my— _thoughts_ , I realized it’d worked.”

“How did you figure it out?”

“It’s kind of like—you have the key to everyone’s thoughts, right? I just changed locks on mine.”

“That’s deep Iwa-chan.”

“But it works. Guess what I’m thinking.”

Tooru met Hajime’s eyes and listened. There was no static, no words. Hajime was barely there, a shadow in the dark, and without Hajime’s thoughts there was no light to guide his way.

“I can’t,” Tooru said.

“Good. Now you’re like the rest of us.”

“Not quite. I’m still all sorts of special.”

“I’ll kick you.”

“Please do, I’ve missed it.”

Hajime laughed a hearty laugh that forced him to cover his mouth with his hands.

The gears of their lives kept spinning.

* * *

 

“Are you sure using Kyoutani is a good idea?”

Tooru hummed. His limbs were heavy with post-practice bliss, especially now that Hajime is with him. Really _with him_.

“It’s as good of an idea as it is a bad one.”

“What kind of answer is that?”

“We’ll see, in time.”

Kyoutani Kentarou was a lot of things, but most of all – a possibility. His thoughts were hard to read because there were barely _any_ to read in the first place. It was a challenge of sorts, but not the kind Tooru wanted to think about right now. Now, on this Tuesday evening, he wanted to walk next to Hajime and openly stare at his profile as he drank chocolate milk with a straw.

“I wish I could read your mind right now,” Tooru said and lightly bumped Hajime’s shoulder with his.

“Why?”

“For reassurance.” That was what this had always been about. “I wonder if you want to hold my hand as badly as I want to hold yours.”

The straw fell out of Hajime’s mouth and he turned away before a blush had fully formed on his cheeks.

“Hold it and find out.”

Tooru didn’t look behind him, or in front of him, or to his left. He dragged his fingers across Hajime’s calloused palm and finally laced their fingers together. In a way, this was an act of courage too.

* * *

 

Spring High prefectural qualifier was upon them.

For the first time, Tooru allowed Ushiwaka’s thoughts past his barriers. What Tooru found was that Ushiwaka’s mind was quiet like a battlefield before the first clash of swords; bloodlust and power. Tooru tilted his chin upwards, defiant against all that Ushiwaka represented and promised he’d challenge him again. Iwa-chan was standing tall next to him and Tooru was not afraid.

Tooru felt like a half-god: he’d either fall from grace or conquer the world. His heart beat to single desire and when he turned to his team, he found that same desire on their faces too.

First obstacle was Karasuno.

“Well then, I’ll be—“

“We’re counting on you, captain,” said his team in unison. Tooru found it hard to keep from melting despite the fear in his veins thrashing against the lust for his team’s victory. 

Playing against Karasuno was like attempting to navigate a ship during a storm: there was no way of telling if the waves would take them safely ashore or cause a shipwreck. Matsukawa was cunning and fierce. Hanamaki was the sharpest blade. Kindaichi was determined. Kyoutani was ruthless.

Iwa-chan was a hero. Tooru led them with every toss.

And still.

Aoba Johsai lost.

Heartbreak and tears surrounded Tooru and it took all he had not to show _his_. He spotted Hajime, tears pouring down his flushed face, his fists angry by his sides. Tooru was attuned to Hajime’s thoughts and he knew his body language the best. He gripped the back of Hajime’s jersey with all his feelings and reassurances at the tips of his fingers.

Aoba Johsai lined up and held their heads high to salute the past three years.

Tooru was heavy, so heavy. And this time, a captain to this team for the last time, he had to do the carrying by himself.

* * *

 

The day after their loss, Tooru carried his pride like broken armour; it weighted heavy on his back but he couldn’t discard it. After so many battles, he’d learned to live with a limp; learned how to get better around it. The bleachers overlooking the match between two of his most aggravating obstacles were a battlefield he had come here to witness on his own.

That was, until bleachers behind him echoed with footsteps and Tooru didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. He wondered sometimes if Hajime could read his mind, or if he needed to read his mind at all. Him being here was a sign that they still craved for the same thing, even if they no longer shared the team. This alone was enough.

“I knew you’d be here,” Hajime said as he sat down, one seat between them, like a reminder of what was missing, of what they’ve lost. Tooru wasn’t strong enough to smile around the loss. 

Tooru thought:

_I was hoping you’d be here._

He didn’t say it.

He hoped Hajime would know anyway.

He hoped Hajime always will.

**Author's Note:**

> The more I wrote this, the more it became clear that it's quite pointless yet I couldn't stop writing it. So I hope you enjoyed it for what it is!


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